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The steps of Fate are dark and terrible; And not here may we trace them to the goal. If I could doubt the heaven in which I hope, The doubt would vanish, gazing upon life, And seeing what it needs of peace and rest. Life is but like a journey during night. We toil through gloomy paths of the unknown; Heavy the footsteps are with pitfalls round; And few and faint the stars that guide our way: But, at the last, comes morning; glorious Shines forth the light of day, and so will shine The heaven which is our future and our home.

watched from his window the light form of Ethel, as she ran hastily along the little winding path, soon lost in the coppice beside. "Poor child!" muttered he, resuming his seat, and gazing on the wood embers, whose flames were gathering into all sorts of fantastic shapes, which only ask the imagination to